


30 Days of Tomato Lovers 2020

by lluviadinoche



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: 30 Days of Tomato Lovers, Abuse, Autism, Developing Relationship, Fluff, Historical, Historical Hetalia, Historical References, Implied Relationships, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Minor Violence, Past Relationship(s), Secret Relationship, Self-Mutilation, Smoking, Toxic Relationship, Trans, Trans Male Character, Unhealthy Relationships, writing cha
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:21:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27839785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lluviadinoche/pseuds/lluviadinoche
Summary: A collection of drabbles and oneshots for 30 Days of Tomato Lovers! This is a month long event for all Spain or Romano ships! Not just Spamano :)
Relationships: Russia/South Italy (Hetalia), South Italy/Spain (Hetalia)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 20





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> Day 1: Flowers
> 
> Type: Fluff
> 
> Warnings: None

“I think one day, I’d live to live amongst the flowers.”

Antonio turned his head, looking at Lorenzo. His curly brown hair was a mess - twigs, leaves, and more caught in it - and he looked so exhausted. However, Antonio thought he was absolutely the most stunning thing on Earth.

“Living among flowers?” he chuckled, reaching over to remove one of the twigs.

The only sound around them was the faint splashes from kids still in the water and parents calling out to them as the sun disappeared beyond the horizon. It was peaceful really.

“Yes.” Lorenzo said, laying back and smiling up at the sky, “It sounds so nice, don’t you think? Living without a care with roses and carnations and-”  
“Orange lilies?” Antonio asked. He sat up, leaning over to kiss his nose.

Lorenzo laughed, reaching up to hold Antonio’s face, pulling him in for an actual kiss. He ran his thumb over that mole on his jaw and before pulling away, mouthed the softest ‘I love you’ against Antonio’s lips.

Oh how it made him shudder in delight every single time.

“Orange lilies. Lots of them. Just like the ones on my arm. And just like I wake up to you over me running your hands on the tattoos on my shoulder, you’ll water the flowers I live around and keep my home safe, right?”

“Of course.”

Antonio looked at Lorenzo again.

He didn’t deserve him.

That smile that could have started a fire in the most lifeless of hearts.

It certainly started one in his and thinking of the person he was when they met made him wonder how he ever lived a life without this love.

A love that led him to a beach and laying in the sand after rolling down a hill with Lorenzo just because he could.

Because this is what life was always meant to be.

It was the now and the tomorrow and the yesterdays that were snuggled in a safe space in between the chaotic everyday nothings.

He could lay here with him for the rest of now and tomorrow and be content.

Antonio watched as Lorenzo reached up to pull a leaf from his hair and they both laughed at nothing and everything that was and would be.

Antonio lifted Lorenzo’s hand up and kisses his palm, drawing a little flower with his finger when he pulled his lips away.

“I think I’d like to marry you one day.” he said.

“You think?” Lorenzo’s laughter brushed softly against his ears.

Antonio’s smile broke out wide. He laughed that deep laugh, lifting Lorenzo up so he could hug him better, not caring at all about all the sand he was getting on their things.

Lorenzo draped his arms over Antonio’s shoulders and Antonio pressed their foreheads together, “No. I know. One day, I’m going to marry you and we will have only orange lilies at the tables. Fuck roses”

“Fuck roses.”

They burst into laughter, but really - that was made this now all the more special.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 3: Water
> 
> Warnings: NONE
> 
> Pairing: 2P Spamano

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These are MY personal interpretations for 2P Spain and 2P Romano. They are OCs for the 2Ps really. 
> 
> Dante is Spain and Cristiano is Romano. Please let me know if you want to know more about them and I may write more for them. I thought it might be nice to write about them and so I pulled them out.
> 
> I pour a lot of how I feel into these two characters when it comes to love, life, and change.

Life was ever-changing and in every moment, Dante thought that the world would collapse before him in all its wonder.

It wasn’t that it was fast-paced and it wasn’t as if his life was interesting. He knew that compared to others, it was such a simple and bland life. The most interesting thing that he could really think of happening was light bullying when he was a pre-teen but even that didn’t last. He grew fast and people were too afraid to really speak to him.

He was treated as weird more than anything and though he knew logically the way others avoided and talked about him should have been alarming - he didn’t care.

Dante was more concerned about the way he couldn’t stand to be in the cafeteria because it was too loud and how he avoided lunch on Tuesdays because the chicken fried steak that they served had a texture that made his entire body feel like it was being tossed in a frozen lake.

And there was Cristiano.

He met him sophomore year of high school and he loved him from the moment that he did.

He had this curly ashy brown hair that looked like a lion's mane and eyes so dark he swore that the secrets of the ocean were inside of them. He had these long eyelashes that seemed to blow you away when they blinked and freckles all over his face. His eyebrows always made him look just slightly worried - kind of like Edward Scissorhands in a way.

No - he was exactly like Edward Scissorhands.

He was a pastel Edward Scissorhands and oh how Dante loved him.

Dante knew that he was a hopeless romantic who struggled to really fall in love. It was not something he could ever really argue against. His first girlfriend told him she loved him and his response was a panicked “Radical, bro” which made her laugh but left him slamming his head against a bathroom stall after.

When he said he loved Cristiano from the moment he saw him, it was in the most peculiar way. Dante didn’t really know how to describe it beyond wanting to show him the world but never thinking of him as his boyfriend.

_ “My poem was so corny. I’ve never really been all that good at poetry. I can’t figure out a way to get all the thoughts in my head on paper and make them make sense to everyone else around me.” _

Dante thought it was the corniest thing he had ever read and he could have spent a lot of time critiquing it like he normally did - something that typically got him glared at - but when he saw the soft way Cristiano spoke about birds, he simply nodded and let him speak some more.

_ “It was supposed to be about my pet lovebirds. Yours was really pretty though. But, I don’t think I really understood it. I’m bad with poetry.” _

The way he giggled and tucked a curl behind his hair made something inside of Dante want to reach out to hug him for no other reason than to hug this man who looked like he was made of sunshine.

Life was a constant wave of unexpected ups and downs that always made Dante feel too worn out to do anything but lay in bed at the end of the week. It was being tossed in a room full of strangers and being expected to have the energy to talk to them all.

So every time, without fail, he wandered over to Cristiano.

He was always alone when he found him. Dante never understood why others didn’t like being around him. He was quite literally the sweetest person he’d ever met. He liked his lovebirds, adored goth fashion, always was so nice talking about paganism and how he practiced his religion. He told him about how he managed to get tattoos and the way he loved to bake cookies. He talked about the kitten he adopted and the clothes that he made and the most beautiful things Dante heard of.

He didn’t know what he was talking about half of the time, but it made him smile.

And so falling in love with Cristiano was something he thought to be not real. After all, he did this every time he met someone. He imagined things and thought of dating them and sometimes developed a week-long crush.

They never lasted.

But Cristiano was different.

It was hard for Dante to get tired of speaking to him. Yes, it did happen - it always did eventually - but it took longer than everyone else. And even when he was tired of talking, Cristiano always knew what to do to make sure he could step away and recharge when needed.

_ “You’re an angel, you know that, Cris?” _

_ “No, I just know exactly how you feel. Are you feeling any better?” _

_ “Much.” _

_ “Do you want to go inside again?” _

_ “What if we just skipped the rest of this weird social and went somewhere else?” _

He loved him.

Every part of him denied it. Cristiano must have asked him out a dozen times and every time it ended, Dante told himself it was nothing and that they were only friends.

Cristiano must have held his face in those warm hands a million times and he pretended he didn’t feel the world stop when he did.

He must have drawn Cristiano’s smile a hundred times and he told himself he didn’t love him.

He never did like change much.

Dante found change to be chaotic like the waves at a beach. It always caught him off guard and felt like swallowing saltwater. He was overwhelmed too easily by it and avoided thinking about it too much.

That was what he liked about being around Cristiano.

He knew their routine and things went as he expected and change never seemed a threat.

At least, he pretended that it wasn’t.

Every time Cristiano held his hand just a little longer or the fondness in his eyes when they lay under the stars he pretended that change wasn’t creeping along. Every time that he found himself gazing at him a little longer or writing poems for him, he pretended that things were the same and that he didn’t have to consider the future.

Dante didn’t want to think of the responsibilities that came with that because he was so used to avoiding them. These crashing waves hit him so unexpectedly and though he always stood up again after, it didn’t change the fact it left him exhausted and frustrated beyond belief.

So be prayed selfishly that he wouldn’t have to consider the changes around him rising like the tide.

“I love you, Dante.” Cristiano whispered while leaning on his arm.

But that wasn’t how life worked, was it?

Those eyes looked like nothing bad could ever happen when he looked in them. The way that he smiled brightly made his heart both melt and clench in terror.

Dante knew it was awful - he always seemed to do this. Every time the expected “ I love yous” came through, he backed away. He was a hopeless romantic terrified of genuinely falling in love. He was a romantic in love with the idea of love but terrified at the concept of really having it.

It was a change that was too big to handle.

But when Cristiano’s smile faded and those eyes widened in the realization that this “I love you” wasn’t going to be returned, he scooted away and hid his face with the blanket he had been using to cover himself.

“I was too fast wasn’t I? I’m so sorry-I wasn’t trying to overwhelm you-” Cristiano’s voice cracked like it did when his kitten passed.

And as Dante sat there frozen, he thought about what really mattered right now.

He liked Cristiano, he knew that much. Without him, he might never have actually learned to take care of his curly hair which was such an issue for him since it was so nice now that it was properly cared for. He liked the way they both laughed hard over chemical burns they got bleaching the front of his hair to give him skunk hair. He liked the way he didn’t care about what others thought about him and always seemed to smile bright despite how others mocked him.

He loved the way he brought him random drawings of fat pigeons because he knew how much he loved pigeons.

He loved how Cristiano knew he only liked his right hand held and how he hated the chicken fried steak at school and so he brought him his favorite soup on those days so he still ate.

He loved how Cristiano sang and flapped his arms when he was excited.

And he loved the way his eyes lit up when he brought him a lovely fabric he found that made him think of him

And so, this scary tsunami of a wave got smaller and smaller. Each thought about what this friendship meant to him made it seem less scary and for once, change didn’t feel like a threatening weapon.

“You’re not too fast. I’m just a bit slow at these things. Is it alright if we go a little slower? I know it’s not the fairest thing to ask of you, but-”

_ “Dante..” _

How patient those eyes were and how delicate that smile was. He felt fear jump at him as his heart melted. The notion of falling in love and genuinely allowing himself to be so vulnerable would always terrify him in some form.

Still…

As Dante gazed at Cristiano, he thought that maybe falling in love wouldn’t be so horrible of an idea - not if it was this man he was falling in love with.

“It’s okay. I’d be more than happy to take things at a slower pace that is good for you.”

The raging oceans that once slammed against his mind at the very thought of genuine commitment grew smaller and smaller and instead of the feeling of drowning in saltwater…

...Dante thought that love with Cristiano felt more like dipping his feet in a stream.

And so he welcomed the change.


	3. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 5: Nature  
> Pairing: Spamano  
> Warnings: Angst, smoking, smacking, fighting, vague historical references, poor health, implied abuse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Antonio never approved of Romano's departure to live with France. However, he is now faced with the reality which is accepting that it is nobody's fault but his own that he is alone with no one to care about him and that Romano leaving was his own pride's doing. Loose look at the theme which was "Nature

“I’m going to live with France.” Romano had said flatly one day while eating dinner with Spain.

He didn’t say anything at first, he only stared at his food. But as the words echoed through his head, it left a rage silently building up and creeping up his spine.

Pushing his chair back rather loudly, he cracked his knuckles.

“Really?  _ Him? _ You’re going with  _ France?” _

As the chair scraped against the floor, Romano flinched ever so slightly. Eyes watching him carefully filled with amusement. How bold he was only moments ago and now he was crumbling.

Pathetic.

Footsteps stepped closer to that pathetic ungrateful ass and he grabbed his wrists roughly.

“Are you stupid, Lovino? You’re leaving for  _ France? _ You think he’s going to care about you?”

“More than you, yes. Now let go of me. I’m not a child!”

“You’re sixteen!”

“I’m older than you!” Romano tugged more, falling forward fast when Spain let go of him, “Just because I’m physically not doesn’t mean you get to boss me around!”

That made rage burn bright in Spain’s eyes.

“I own you!” he shouted, reaching to grab Romano only to be smacked.

“Not anymore. You have nothing you can do to me you pathetic, bitter, prideful, ass! I do not fear you nor does anyone else! You’re losing and you know it and I refuse to be bossed around by someone so insufferable and insignificant” he snapped.

Insignificant….

Insignificant…

Antonio’s blood boiled at such a suggestion.

_ Insignificant. _

He wanted to scream, lash out. He wanted to strangle him or hit him in return or anything to prove he was relevant but deep down, his own demons taunted him and reminded him of how weak he was.

He was just another failure to the world. He had built an empire on the suffering of others and lowered them below his heel and now even darling Romano wanted nothing to do with him.

He clenched his fists and Romano looked so prepared to take a hit. He lifted his arms to block his face….

But Spain just laughed.

“When you get burned Lovino, don’t come weeping to me.”

* * *

Antonio looked at the garden around him. It had once been bustling with flowers and produce. It was never a large part of his home. It had always been Romano’s. It had been his little project. He had carefully woven the arch and the flowers around it. He had managed to make the roses grow up on it.

It was his careful touch that made this courtyard come to life. The birds and the cats all had come to eat and lay beside him here. He must have caught him a dozen times in his garden drawing or reading.

No...he caught him a hundred times.

Every moment he walked by and there Lorenzo was.

He could have been one with the flowers really.

Why had he not noticed him before?

He walked by him hundreds of times and he was always connected to that garden. The way that he used to bring flowers to him and how he smiled brightly after it rained.

Antonio missed all of those things now.

The cats had long since left and the birds no longer sang. Even the sunlight seemed so bleak in this area. Everything that once lit up his days was gone.

The garden was withered and the leaves were nothing but dust. The earth that once brought life was dry and cracked. The roses had died and the arch had long since collapsed. The bricks were cracked and the tools rusted in that bucket.

The only evidence that Lorenzo had ever been there at all was dried and dead and nothing Antonio wanted to stare at for too long really.

It was a reminder of  _ why _ he left.

The harsh things he had said and the ways he lowered Romano’s worth couldn’t be turned back. He knew well he had dug his own grave by denying him an equal status as a living, breathing, being. He was also all too painfully aware that the words he once shouted now only rang true to him.

It was he who was dust.

It was he who was weeping.

It was he who now wished that all he could do was turn back to the clock.

His pride was finally suffocating him.

Reaching up to touch his unevenly cut hair, Antonio walked himself back inside and began to wonder how many mistakes ago he had sealed his fate that left him bitter, alone, and forgotten.

* * *

“I don’t need your pity.”

“Good. I told you what to expect from France and yet you left anyway.” he lit a cigarette, “Was it worth it, Lovino? Was it worth it to be treated-”

“My name is  _ Lorenzo _ .”

“I gave you a perfectly fine name.”

Romano growled, breaking his calm stance, “I. Don’t. Want. It. My name is Lorenzo.”

“Whatever you say Lovino-”

_ SMACK _

Antonio stared at the cigarette on the ground while Lorenzo took some time to process what he had just done.

“Acting like a piece of shit won’t fix whatever trauma you have. Grow up,  _ Lorenzo _ if you want to be treated like an adult.” he huffed, stepping on it and pulling out another to light up.

“How can you tell me that when you act like the same prick you were at sixteen?” Romano demanded, “You’re no better than me, Tonio! Don’t tell me to grow up when you refuse to as well!”

Spain chuckled and leaned close to Romano, pulling him in by the chin, “I never said I was. But at least Europe remembers my name. You’re so behind that it seems I’m the only one you had to crawl to. Don’t you have any shame, Romano? Do you have any bite or do you only whine?”

Tears collected in his eyes and he blinked them away, eyes cast downward, “I don’t have anything left…..”

“Didn’t I tell you-”

“I know you told me!” he snapped, looking up at him, “Don’t you think I think of that every day? I know I made a mistake! I know I was stupid! I know I shouldn’t have trusted him. I know, Antonio! You don’t have to remind me!”

It was so painfully quiet, the only sound being Spain’s coughs and exhales. They were both a wreck to look at; Antonio with his pale appearance and fragile body now that his power and wealth ran dry and Lorenzo with his bruised and beaten body that needed some rest after all it went through. Their eyes were dull, lifeless, and the fire of the century before had long since flickered out.

Antonio dropped his cigarette, not even caring that he couldn’t afford to really do that. He sighed and stepped forward to kiss Lorenzo’s forehead.

“Come, Lore...let’s get you cleaned up. You look awful.” he said, reaching and taking Romano’s hand, “You can rant about him later, we can talk about everything he did because I can see the way he broke you, but right now you look terrible and I can’t talk to something so tragic. It’s like watching my own failure which I’ve had enough of.”

They were a mess and terrible for each other. All they could do was go in circles these days and pretend that they weren’t less and less alive with each passing day. Antonio especially knew that nothing good could really come out of this.

Still, like that withered garden, there was nothing else left to prove they had existed at all besides the dying and faded image of what was once alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not follow canon timelines for ages because I find it to be 1) stupid and 2) makes no sense at all for their histories
> 
> So Antonio is 17 and Lorenzo is 16 when he lived with him.
> 
> The usage of Lovino in this fic along with Lorenzo is because I headcanon that Romano was given the name Lovino by Spain but changed it to Lorenzo with Risorgimento. Spain did not approve of the name change and did refuse to use it at first due to him seeing no reason to change a "perfectly functioning name".
> 
> I headcanon Antonio cut his long hair off after he realized he was all alone because of his choices. He had a large meltdown and then did that so the comments on him touching his uneven hair is a reference to that.
> 
> Romano living with France is a reference to the Napoleonic Era and just a bit before that as I HC Romano went to live with France officially a bit earlier than that due to the French influence in the area in general but also the great admiration Italy had for France at the time in general.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 7: Free Day  
> Pairing: None  
> Warnings: Stressed character, breakdown, descriptions of desires for s*lf h@rm/m*tilation

Antonio stared at the ground. He followed the cracks in the dirt along with a stick and listened to the rain falling against the ground. He sighed as it soaked his clothes.

The distant sound of people didn’t even bother him anymore - he didn’t even hear the thunder roaring. He was lost in the thoughts of loss and loneliness and his own words that bit him instead of those around him.

Antonio thought about his demons that swirled around in his head. Oh, how they clawed the walls of his sanity and mocked his every emotion.

Once, he thought of greatness and how it was all that he would be. He was so sure of it years before and yet here he was - all alone. Though was it anyone’s fault but his own? His own hubris became his downfall and still, he held tightly onto his ego as if letting go would lead him to certain death. He was spiraling and he didn’t even know what he was spiraling into.

Madness was something he was all too familiar with and this was not it.

Insanity had been his companion and he knew better than to insult her by comparing this to her.

Every moment was suffocation and every hour was another painful stab to his soul. He was bleeding out and being left a ghost.

Antonio screamed, taking the stick and stabbing it into the ground.

The rosary beads slipped down from the bench and beside him. Reaching for them, Antonio sought for the comfort he once found. He looked for God in that prayer but he was left alone more than ever. The beads were only beads and prayer was only words that he spoke in vain attempts to make the screaming in his head silence.

He gripped his hair, pulling at it as tears rolled down his cheeks. Mistakes that were clawing at the deepest and most vulnerable parts of his mind and demons that slammed against his skull laughed at him as his breathing grew shaky.

He was searching for the Earth but he was floating in an abyss and lost in the darkness of his heart that was finally killing him.

A puddle grew on the ground in front of him and through murky water, he was forced to stare at himself. His eyes were bloodshot - rest not having been an option for weeks now. His hair was going in every direction from how he pulled at it to attempt to grab some sort of grip on the world. The scars on his face didn’t feel powerful as they once did; all he felt was a pathetic sense of longing for someone’s touch.

The longer he stared at himself, the more he couldn’t stand it. He wanted to scratch every feature of his face off until he couldn’t recognize it anymore. He wanted to rip his hair off until he bled. His hands itched to scratch deeper into those scars or rip the hoop in his ear.

His breath grew quicker and before he knew it, he was slamming his fists down into the mud and screaming at his own reflection. He didn’t want to see his face for a second longer. He didn’t want to stare at himself and know this was the face of a man with too many sins for the Lord to forgive.

But it did not last. Despite the mud on his face and the tears streaks down his cheeks, this was still his face. Despite the miserable expression and the pride that once burned bright being nothing but a dying flame…

...this was his face.

Something scratched against the ground next to him and he glanced down to be met with the dagger that fell from its pouch.

He didn’t remember reaching for it.

Antonio didn’t remember even holding it at all.

But he knew that he did because when he woke up the next morning, his hair was cut uneven. Long pieces here and there but it was mostly gone. Long curls that he prided himself in caring now lay on the ground somewhere on that cracking courtyard. The beggars looked better than he did.

It was perfect.

So as he took some scissors to clean up his work, Antonio swore to himself that this is how his hair would stay. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 8: Dragons  
> Pairing: Rusmano  
> Warnings: Mentions of d3ath/hunting

Years ago, he was a dragon hunter trained to have no mercy on the beasts. He was taught of their bloodshed and their soulless lives they lived. He was taught that they were merciless creatures and that their death was his survival.

The art of dragon hunting had begun to die out with the scarce sights of them. That or men traveled to distant lands to carry on their work there.

Ivan however, stayed where he was. He figured dragons were mostly hiding. After all - they were able to shift into a human form. Some said it was even two souls that made up the dragons. So he sought to slay whatever dragons may lurk in this home of his, unsure that the beasts were truly gone.

He had been taught well by his forefathers and that was that dragons were to be killed with no mercy.

But when Ivan met Lorenzo, he found it to be untrue.

Here lay the last dragon in their lands.

He was smaller than he had anticipated and he was hardly threatening in his human form. But when he was a dragon, he was large and terrifying and yet…

He had spared him.

_ “You will be spared if you leave and never tell anyone that you found me. But should I find word has spread of my presence, I will burn your home to the ground” _

It has seemed so unfair at first but then Ivan thought about him living. Dragons were old beings and he knew this one was a few hundred years old at least. The worn scales in his dragon form and the faded color in patches of him. The lines in his human form that told every year he had lived.

And so if he was hundreds of years old and capable of burning down the town, why hadn’t he?

_ “Why would I subject a child to my suffering?” _

It was a fair question and it made him think of all that he knew and thought of as fact.

Like a fool, he returned to that area where he found the dragon. Like a fool, he took the time to get to know him and like a fool he chose to open his mind to the realization that the only monster that existed between them wasn’t Lorenzo.

He was bright and his laughter filled his heart and Ivan did not want to imagine a world where Lorenzo wasn’t a part of it.

_ “I’ve spent years looking for other dragons and I cannot seem to find any. I’ve found some eggs I keep in hopes they survive but I fear I live the loneliest life.” _

Ivan had been offended at the time. Was he not decent company? He supposed he had been brutish when they first met and he was a former dragon hunter and-

The more he thought about all the things that brought them together and left the thoughts of Lorenzo lingering in his mind the more he became painfully aware that even his company - as nice or as bad as it was - was nothing compared to the striking loneliness that the last dragon in the lands must have felt.

He was only human.

And Lorenzo was older than he’d ever know.

So to think of his life, which was only a blip in Lorenzo’s, as enough to combat the agony and solitude that he felt was selfish and dismissive.

But as he lay there, holding Lorenzo and the hatchling between them close, he hoped that despite being nothing but a blip in a dragon’s life, that he might stay close in the heart of this one.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theme: Mythology  
> Pairing: Rusmano  
> Warnings: Mentions of abuse, violence, falling out of love type relationship, memory loss, historical references, implied unfaithfulness, guilt from falling out of love, crisis over the idea of nationhood

The sun could not have compared to the light that filled Romano the first time that he saw Ivan.

Childish dreams and naive thoughts and the inability to look at himself for a moment and think that perhaps the dreams he thought he wanted weren’t at all what he longed for.

“Does he always yell at you like that?” Ivan asked one day while they sat outside.

At the time, it was all he knew. Spain yelled at him, so had Rome - so he saw no reason to be put off or concerned with France repeating the pattern. Unlike the others, he gave him attention and he loved him. What reason was there for alarm?

Nationhood was something to be filled with these harsher elements. It was his own responsibility to build a tougher skin, was it not? It was nobody’s fault but his own if he was too sensitive to handle such things.

“Yes, but why is it any different than our bosses?” he had asked back then, lifting his head up to meet those eyes that were the strangest color.

“Because you love him and he you.”

At the time, he thought it was such stupid commentary and that he only said such things because he was new to the interactions with the rest of Europe and it was his first time in France. He believed Ivan to be ignorant on matters such as romance because after all, who better to know about the trials and adventures of love better than he and France? What did this random man with hair like a white lilac know about his and France’s deep devotion to each other?

Nothing.

Then again, as Romano looked back at his former self…

What did he know either?

* * *

_You are the kindest thing_

_that has ever happened to me_

_even if that is not how our tale is told_

  * _Nikita Gill_



* * *

There was something about when he was around Ivan that made his heart melt.

He admit, his intentions at first weren’t the best. All he knew when it came to the idea of being taken seriously was presenting his body and so he did just that.

He wasn’t quite sure how grateful he was to Ivan’s obliviousness to his attempts to make a move on him, but he was grateful for the friendship that he gave him. With each letter back and forth that they slid under each other's doors at night and the giggles they exchanged about jokes they made up, he felt his heart betraying him in the worst way possible.

Romano still loved France without a doubt. His company was something that made him feel less lonely in the world and the soft kisses he pressed to his lips were always delightful.

Or at least they were.

Things seemed so distant now and the things he once loved were so emotionless and plain now. France seemed to kiss him out of obligation and his sugary words turned bitter. He couldn’t even remember the last time that they ate together. It was all distant and slipping.

He couldn’t even remember the last time that he smiled at him.

Ivan smiled at him.

He made him laugh.

Ivan made things feel like it would be okay. The sun shone where he stood and the earth seemed to bow at his every movement. The richest parts of life and the most vibrant colors all seemed to follow him and only him, leaving everything else in the world behind.

It was as if the Heavens willed life to be the most moving around him.

Romano was entranced by his every movement and word. Every gentle smile and furrowed brow.

But the more that his heart began to tug, the more Romano felt guilt griping at him and reminding him to stay in his place.

* * *

_I asked Persephone, “How could you grow to love him? He took you from flowers to a kingdom where not a single living thing can grow.”_

_Persephone smiled, “My darling, every flower on your earth withers. What Hades gave me was a crown made for the immortal flowers in my bones.”_

  * _Nikita Gill_



* * *

Romano stopped loving Francis the day he began to scrub off evidence he had touched him at all rather than lay smiling bright at getting to be close to him. His tears trickled down his cheeks, stinging from how worn and red they already were.

He did not love France.

What was there to love?

Words of kindness, praises, and loving kisses had all dissipated and what was left was demanded to be used and anger if he didn’t want to. He was left with bruises and flinching and reminders that he had gone from being a most adored lover to nothing but property. When France wrote loving letters to Poland, he could not find it within himself to care.

This was nationhood after all.

Anyone who assumed another was loyal to only them was a fool and Romano knew that well. And even if France had promised exclusivity to him, he really couldn’t find it in himself to care or be hurt that he turned to Poland.

Nor did he blame the other.

There was nobody to blame but himself

* * *

_‘Aren’t you afraid of my darkness, my dear?’ Hades asked with mischief in his eyes._

_‘No,’ Persephone replied, ‘You haven’t even seen mine yet.’_

  * _kfg_



* * *

“I love you, Ivan.” he said to him during that dance.

Romano’s face had been cleverly hidden behind a peacock mask and his hair combed well to avoid any possible recognition. Still, his voice was his voice and he waited in those thousand breathless moments in that second for Ivan to reply.

A second never felt longer.

“Lovino?” his voice was so soft.

The fear that curled around his being and seemed to suffocate him in those breathless moments. Despite needing to switch partners, they remained closer than ever.

“I’m sorry.” he pulled away, feeling the reality of the world come crashing down.

What a fool he must have been to willingly step into this territory. He knew his place well as a trinket for France. It did not matter that the love he once knew withered out completely, nor did it matter that the adoration and sweet words that had brought him to France to begin with were nothing but a dream of the past.

Fleeting kisses and the softest touches in those brief moments with each other had long since withered.

They were replaced with selfish ambitions and outbursts at his slightest out of place action. His wrists were red from the rough way he was held and shook. He had long since learned to cover up the bruises around his jaw and eye.

But somehow, he had hoped that this..whatever it was could have been hope that he was much more than just land to be shoved around to whoever wanted a higher place more.

He was somebody to Ivan. He was clever and creative. He was charming and funny and now that he was finally to his room, he cried because he wasn’t somebody Ivan _wanted_ it seemed.

That was, until there was a soft knock at his door. When it opened, there he was and he had removed his mask.

“I find it unfair that you didn’t allow me the chance to speak.” he said, closing it quietly behind him.

Romano shook his head, “I don’t need to be rejected twice, Ivan.”

Laughter filled the room and he wasn’t sure if he should feel rage or humiliation.

Perhaps both.

Turning, he prepared to snap at Ivan but then he met those eyes that didn’t look like they were filled with an ounce of malice.

Was he a fool to love him? Nations were such fickle things and he knew better than to trust anyone that was doing well. It was a heavy price to gain such a position. There was a weight that he couldn’t begin to imagine because he had never known it himself - all he did was watch. Spain, France, Rome - he knew well what it cost to be someone at all.

But God, what choice did beings like them really have?

“You assumed the worst after surprising me.” Ivan cupped Romano’s cheeks and smiled at him, “Lovino, I adore you. Every moment with you feels like God has brought Heaven to Earth. Do you know how much I worry for you every day? How much it horrifies me to think of what your life would be like had I never come to France to begin with?”

It was funny how they were nothing alike and yet so similar. Lost teenagers in a world of chaos and bloodshed. Nations with questionable morals and ideas of what it means to love but attempting to love nonetheless because a life without it seemed like the deepest circle of hell.

“He’s not that bad….but he doesn’t love me anymore. I feel it every time he looks at me.” he sighed, closing his eyes to avoid seeing Ivan’s expression at the helpless tears rolling down his cheeks, “I know this is how nationhood is. I know that and so I am not angry that he loves Feliks now. But tell me why I feel like the worst of us because when I look at you and all I desire is to be held in the deepest parts of your heart.”

He must have struck something in Ivan because when he finally opened his eyes, there were tears in his as well.

Romano looked for something, anything, to say but was left silent and hopeless. Instead, he opted to simply embrace Ivan and pretend that the life of a nation wasn’t finally crushing him beyond repair.

* * *

_“Lost in Hell,-Persephone,_

_Take her head upon your knee;_

_Say to her, "My dear, my dear,_

_It is not so dreadful here.”_

  * _Edna St Vincent Millay_



* * *

There was something about Ivan’s kisses that always made Romano feel like the Devil could not rob him of his good mood. There was security in his embrace and the love of the Lord gracing him with some peace in life when their foreheads were pressed together.

Even when Ivan eventually departed from France to handle things in his home, the letters that were sent brought him a comfort he had never known.

_‘My Dearest Lovino’_

_‘I have begun to think that the meaning of life is hidden in your name’_

_‘There is serenity in the words that you send me - a soothing love I have not known. It is that which convinces me that the moon must call your name because the stars rest in your eyes’_

_‘Perhaps comfort lies in the way that you, my darling Lovino, rest your head on my shoulder during those rare moments we share’_

Each letter, he held close to his chest as if he feared they’d disappear at any moment.

But he never kept them out for long. As soon as he was able to, they were tucked away in his journal in between his sketches to avoid wandering eyes.

Regardless of France’s love long-since having withered, he seemed to still feel Romano was obligated to love him and that he could not find his own joy somewhere else.

Part of Romano thought maybe France loved him in his own corrupted way. That perhaps he still had some sort of flame in that heart that seemed to only beat for power and the chance to stay on top. Or perhaps it was simply what he wanted to believe.

His promises of being a patron of love and someone who wanted to grant it to everyone in some form seemed like a laughing matter now. But somehow, France still stuck to the idea that this is what he represented and did not back down or consider for a moment that he was hurting him.

Nationhood and the psyche of them was funny that way.

Still, even France could not have ruined the joy that he felt with his bitterness and as Romano reread the letter he had just received from Ivan, he smiled wide, face bright red and heart swelling.

That was of course, until he walked into his room, tucking that letter in his sleeve and saw France sitting on his bed. Romano’s journal was on the floor, letters scattered around it and the other’s feet.

The toes of his shoes tapped against the legs of the bed and when he looked up, those eyes that once held the bluest sky were filled with the coldest ice. They pierced through him and filled him with a terror he’d not felt since he left Spain’s home.

“You told me you didn’t use your human name. That you didn’t want to encourage Spain by giving it to anyone. It seems you’re fine with encouraging him when it’s Ivan that is the one speaking sweet words to you.”

He was caught in his own lies. what was there even to say at that point? He could not lie because proof of his relationship was right there in Francis’ hands. Proof of his lies that he kept up and tried to conceal to find some sort of joy in the world.

“Francis-”

“You live with _me_ may I remind you, South Italy. It is _my_ home that you live in. _My_ bed is the one that you have slept in. It is _me_ who you came to after leaving Spain. Not Russia. So tell me, my pet. Why are you giving _him_ your name that was oh too personal to give to me?”

And the reality of that was that he didn’t know.

As France gripped his wrists, shaking him and demanding an answer, he had no answer. He really didn’t know what had compelled him to tell Ivan something so personal and not him. It wasn’t any one thing he supposed - it was the million things that made that space with Ivan so different from the space with Francis.

“Tell me!” he demanded, “Tell me why you went and snuck around to be with him! Tell me why you thought I was not enough for you, Lo-vi-no! Explain and give me one reason I shouldn’t burn these in front of you right now!”

At some point, he really stopped listening. All he saw was France shouting but he heard nothing. He could see his twisted frown and the dark circles under his eyes that resembled those of the conquerors he knew before him. The red eyes filled with anger reflected ones he saw far too many times in his life.

Romano was exhausted.

He couldn’t even force himself to feel a thing as France shoved him to the ground and took those letters on the floor into his hands. His eyes looked up, seeing the pendant around his neck of Medusa’s head that he had made for him. She shook around his neck and Romano almost laughed at the irony of his symbol of protection meaning nothing now.

France shook him once more before leaving him on the ground, making his eyes flicker up. He watched as he walked away, tearing those letters in his hand. He only paused at the door for just a moment to look back at him. Just a second though. After that, he yanked it closed as hard as he could.

For the most fleeting of seconds, Romano could have sworn he saw humanity and genuine hurt in Francis’ eyes.

* * *

_“Tell them that you weren't hungry, tell them you followed the pomegranates seeds because they tasted like blood, like love.”_

  * _Pauline Albanese_



* * *

“Lovino-” Russia made his way towards him like some sort of excited puppy.

He scoffed. That name. He hated that name and he hated the prospect of the other being friendly towards him because he had helped remove French occupation in Italy. These bigger nations always seemed to think the same thing.

“My name is Lorenzo. I do not know who told you my name but that is not it. You however, will only refer to me as Italy Romano or Southern Italy. I am not your friend and you will not act as such.”

“What?” the strange nation tilted his head, “Romano I tried to come earlier-”

“So you could control me?” he asked with folded arms, “I know the likes of you. I just left the likes of you. I have little interest in playing a prize for another egomaniac. I am really quite fed up with the likes of Europe in general.”

He watched the way the light in Russia’s eyes blew out and it confused him more than anything. This was the brute he was told about? This was the man that they turned to for help because of his intimidating appearance? This was who France lost to?

Someone his age with a pathetic appearance and a lack of a proper spine from what he was seeing? He was trembling at the sight of him and it was a pathetic thing to have be a first impression.

He glanced to Austria, brow raised and watched as he stepped forward to grab Russia’s arm gently and whisper something in his ear that made him slump more.

Romano watched carefully as they left the room, scoffing at the nation he had just met. It seemed almost a waste of both of their time for him to be there. He had little interest in anything beyond basic nation duties when it came to Russia and he didn’t understand why the other looked so surprised about it.

* * *

_“It's what's known as an origin myth._

_What happened to me? That's no myth.”_

  * _Meg Cabot_



* * *

France looked so worn when he came to see him. The dark circles he once had noticed showing up reminded him far too much of Antonio. His blond hair falling from that ribbon that was so lazily tied.

“You hate me so, my pet?” he laughed bitterly, looking up.

His face was written with defeat - dirt smudging him and lips lost of color. His cheeks that once glowed with pink joy were lifeless and dull.

“Hate is such a merciful word for what I feel.” Lorenzo simply said as he stood there in front of him.

Despite Francis being a little bit taller than him,he looked so small now. Standing there, he wondered how he ever had power over him to begin with. 

He wondered if he’d ever understand how much he hurt him.

“You say that.” he chuckled, twirling a loose piece of hair around his gloved finger, “And yet, my pet, you are off to become the only thing you know how to be - some empire’s _whore._ ”

He tried to control his shaking, he desperately bit the inside of his cheek hoping that the hot feeling would not reach his face.

It did.

He felt smaller with just those words. It was as if he had been tossed back to being a helpless teenager underneath his foot again.

Still, he refused to allow himself to be lowered like that. Even if he was reminded that he was only what France said he was because he knew nothing else of himself. He knew nothing of the years past. All he knew was what France said about him and though he had great doubts of his words, it dug deep into him nonetheless. The chance of it all being true still lingered and it ate at him more than anything.

Despite that, he kept his head high and took a deep breath. He ignored the stinging from his fingernails that pierced his palm and the way his ribs bruises from how hard his heart slammed.

“Whoever I am. Whoever I become. At the very least, I will never be _your pet_ or your property again.”

* * *

_When Hades decided he loved this girl_

_he built for her a duplicate of earth,_

_everything the same, down to the meadow,_

_but with a bed added._

_Everything the same, including sunlight,_

_because it would be hard on a young girl_

_to go so quickly from bright light to utter darkness_

  * _Louise Glück_



* * *

Memories were a gift and a privilege to Romano. He knew nothing of what he really was like nor who he once was. All that he knew of himself came from journal entries and letters he dug up himself.

And it made this all the worse.

Lorenzo had come into the room because he was visiting Ivan. He wanted to show him architecture influenced by Italy and the two were on rather good terms as far as things went. Things seemed to go better over the years and while Romano’s stress wore him out to the bone, he did not let it affect the fact that as far as friendships went, the one he had with Ivan was among the loveliest he’d known.

But while wandering through the halls, he’d dropped a box when he tripped. At first, he panicked over the broken clay and hastily moved to piece things back together. However, when he looked closer and saw his old name written on one of the papers, his curiosity got the best of him. If it had his name, especially his forgotten one, then surely it was his business to read?

Oh he wished that he hadn’t.

_‘My Dearest Ivan,_

_These days, I wonder if the sun knows that he is dim compared to the light you bring into my life. Things always seem so bleak around Francis - I think his flirtatious encounters with Feliks are coming to an end and so he is bitter. Yet, every time that I receive one of your letters, I feel as if God is blessing me with some serenity in the chaos._

_He doesn’t know that I plan to leave._

_I’m desperate these days. All I feel is misery when I am around him and I don’t know if I can handle it anymore. I know I used to love him more than the stars in the sky and the sand by my home. However, there is nothing left there for him. I doubt he has any love left for me either._

_It’s withered away and I am slowly losing all energy to continue to stay where I’m being promised nothing but more anger and passive aggressiveness from him._

_I miss who he used to be. I hope that isn’t terrible of me to say to you._

_Still, there is nothing that can compare to the joy I feel around you. Around you, I am Lovino. Your Lovino. And the Devil himself could not lead me away from you-’_

Shoving the paper down, he felt his heartbeats picking up. That was his handwriting, that was his name before. This was him so clearly but it couldn’t have been true because if it was, that suggested that his friend kept the one thing he desired the most from him.

His memories were like the most unreachable riches and he longed to find them in everything around him. Journals and ripped pages, stories, everything and anything that could have possibly been a hint to the life he had and person that he been.

Ivan knew how desperately he longed for those truths.

He stared at the letters in his hands, eyes running over every word.

_‘I dream of a world where your arms may be where I rest each evening.’_

_‘There is security in your eyes that I have never known before.’_

_‘My Darling Ivan’_

He scanned the lines over and over, unsure what to think. This couldn’t be true. Of all the things in his life to be a lie - this couldn’t be one of them.

But he must have read through every letter a million times tears pouring down at his face at a romance he hadn’t known existed and pieces coming together. The little things Ivan said and how he knew him so well.

 _‘My Darling Ivan’_ he read again and wondered if he had allowed himself to become a pawn for another nation once more.

* * *

_My lord husband, she said within his very thoughts. Come to me... Find me, Aidoneus.”_

  * _Rachel Alexander_



* * *

He was sobbing when Ivan found him.

The letters scattered all over the floor before him and he held tightly to a few, struggling to sit up. His arm shook and the other refused to let go of the letters, sure that the moment his grip loosened that they’d turn to dust.

Memories of a life that he didn’t know anymore and the deepest parts of his mind to had longed to know about so desperately.

Ivan’s shoes tapped against the floor quietly, stopping right in front of Lorenzo.

He didn’t really need to see his face to know that he was frozen and wore an expression of fear. Why wouldn’t he? He was caught in the lie he weaved around him and now Lorenzo was faced with the truth.

“Why did you not tell me about this?” he asked, “When you knew that all I wanted was my memory back?”

The silence went on for ages. There was coldness beyond the weather. This cemented itself into his bones and kept him weighed down. He wept over these words and the love that these letters carried that he spent this time not knowing he’d felt.

“I didn’t want to make you feel like you were obligated to love me again.”

Lorenzo wiped his tears, looking up at him. What was there to say? He knew that either way something like this would have bitten him. Right now he hated Ivan because he had found out of a life he wanted nothing more than to know about but he also knew well that he would have hated him had he told him at first because he’d have thought him a liar or pressuring him into loving him again simply because he loved him before.

The complex mess of strings and emotions made no sense and never would. If he was angry now then he was ungrateful for him taking his feelings into consideration with all he went through. Yet, if he told him the truth and he was angry then he was mad for honesty.

So what was he allowed to feel if anything at all?

“I want to know who I am.”

“I know who you were and that I can show you if you still desire, but who you are is your decision. You are Lorenzo. You are you.”

* * *

_“Who are you?" she said, barely able to hear her own words as her heartbeat thrummed in her ears._

_"This is your dream, remember? Tell me who I am," he said smiling, absently coiling a tendril of her long brown hair around a finger._

_She narrowed her eyes at him. "If this is my dream, oneiroi, then answer my question. Who are you?"_

_He was hearing her true voice: that of a natural ruler. She watched him smile at her fearlessness, even as he loomed over her. He leaned down and whispered in her ear, "I am your lord husband.”_

  * _Rachel Alexander_



* * *

“I know who I am.” Lorenzo said one morning, laying on Ivan’s chest.

The sun was bright that day and it was a lazy Sunday morning - good for resting and good for snuggling. And the best part was that they had the excuse to because the meeting had been the day before and they had time before they had to go back.

“Really? And who are you, Lorenzo?” Ivan asked, wrapping his arms around the other’s waist.

The sun peeked through the curtains and felt warm on his skin, but not as warm as Lorenzo’s hands wrapped around him.

He leaned forward, pressing their foreheads together.

He thought back to those letters - all of which he kept locked away in a box now. He thought of when they met and everything that led up to now. He thought about nationhood as well and the ambiguity of their existences.

“I am the failed child of Rome.” he said simply, “But it’s a good thing.”

“It is?” Ivan asked, cupping his cheek. He tilted his head to the side, not taking his eyes off of Lorenzo still.

“Of course it is. Could you imagine if I was the proud son and was like Feli? I’d throw myself off a bridge.”

“Oh dear God - that is an _awful_ image.”

“Exactly. The Universe is looking out for me. I’m telling you.”

They both burst into laughter that made their sides hurt and their throats go dry from wheezing. Ivan still held him close despite it, though his grip was not nearly as strong as it was. It was hard to hold on while laughing so hard.

As he turned to look at Ivan, smile still wide on his face, Lorenzo thought that perhaps, regardless of the bitterness of nationhood and the difficult ideas of morality for beings like them, that life would be okay.

Because there was sunshine in his life and the world was colorful again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Once again, I HC Romano went by Lovino until Risorgimento
> 
> \- This is based on some headcanons a friend and I came up with for how Russia and Romano met in history which is during Westernization as I HC Romano visited France a lot at the time before living with him later on. The rest goes on through their history and Romano's history with France.
> 
> \- This is a loose idea of the theme mythology as it's based more on how I did an analysis of their characters and how they're often written versus how they are to be similar to how Hades and Persephone are written versus how they actually are. Hence the quotes about Hades and Persephone. I wanted to draw something but couldn't really get into the mood to do so.
> 
> \- The reference with Romano and Russia meeting after he loses his memory is about the Russians aiding in removing French occupation in Italy. Due to the fact that it was based in North Italy, Romano didn't quite like Russia since he lost his memory of him and saw him as just another nation trying to control he or Feli.
> 
> \- A lot of Italian inspiration could be seen in the architecture that was built in Russia during Westernization so that is what that reference is :)
> 
> \- France and Poland were kinda horny on main for each other in history and so I wanted to implement that in as well. Really France was getting them hoes at the time.
> 
> \- Nations are morally grey at the end of the day and that's a lot of what I want to express with France's character when it comes to his dynamic with Romano. I see his character as one that refused to admit the hurt he caused anyone at the time due to his selfish ambitions as it went against the image he had of himself as this patron of love. It's hard to admit you're in the wrong when it goes against what you believe yourself to be so that's important to keep in context with how I write his character during history. Much like any colonizer/power, he justified his actions for quite a bit.
> 
> \- All Romano knows of his past comes from letters so anything written like he remembers it is because he found it discussed in a letter or in something he wrote in a journal. He has ideas from other people but he is slower to accept stories of himself from other nations as it makes him feel like he is being lied to.
> 
> \- His memory loss is as a result of trauma. I do HC most of the nations have a period(s) they blocked out because of its effect on them.
> 
> \- If you're confused because of my other historical ship hcs, I make different timelines based on which ship does or doesn't happen because I find looking at the different outcomes to be fascinating.


End file.
